


bullet-pocked hearts

by Shanedan (shanedan)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 1st person, Best Friends, Bitch Friends, Depression, Frank Language, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Medium Burn, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, character exploration, i dont know im doing this one by bits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanedan/pseuds/Shanedan
Summary: Jesse Jedediah McCree never considered himself a coward until August 14th, 2076.Now that Overwatch is in full swing, two separate teams are always on the go. One team has McCree, and the other his best friend Hanzo Shimada. With no time to talk and his heart yearning for something he doesn't understand yet, McCree is stuck writing Hanzo 'friendship' letters.It doesn't take too long to realize he wants to be writing Hanzo love letters instead.





	1. (McCree) August 14th, 2076

**Author's Note:**

> for once i have no idea where this is going and im just going to wing it. each chapter will be a letter or something like that. im just wingin' it folks! they wuv each other!

August 14th, 2076

 

Hanzo,

 

Realized that with how busy we’ve been that it’s near impossible to talk to you for more than a second. S’like I get off the ship, say howdy, and you run past me to go to your next mission. It’s an annoyin’ game of tag that I wish to remedy. Sure, I could insta-message you but then it’d distract ya during work and I hate that kind of shit anyway. What if someone hacked it? I don’t want some two-bit thug hacker to know my innermost thoughts.

 

Anyway, having that it’s been a hot minute since we sat down and talked, I figure I’ll start with the boring shit. That book you recommended me was okay. Books are hard to read, on account that I’d have to sit still enough, so I ended up usin’ an audiobook while I was exercising or doin’ my own writing en-route to missions. The author was famous, you said, but that doesn’t mean his subject matter was less creepy. Acclaimed gay novel or not, shit’s not right. Scruples weren’t invented in the twenty-first century. I’d like you to explain to me why you like it again? Hope you don’t see yourself in the main character; he’s a rich prick, for sure, but I think you’re a different kind of rich prick. (I can only say that with the most fondness I can muster in my bullet-pocked heart).

 

And, since that book was so shit, I’ve begun my own hunt for better books re: gay stuff re: older stuff. Prepare to get your ass whooped. Might take a while, considering I have to use an audiobook and those can take a while to finish to completion, especially since most people don’t read like a damn demon, but it’ll come. Swear on my abuelo's grave.

 

And I know it’s your bitter, bitter way of showin’ invested interest, but would you stop sending me all those book recommendations? My bastard self can’t read half that fast and they all look boring as hell. Why not send me cool news articles like I send you? I think what I send you is real interesting. Interesting enough that I read it, I guess. And they’re usually short!

 

Onto more pressin’ matters, what have you been doing?

 

Mostly on my side we’ve been intercepting weapon shipments and other things. I don’t think it necessarily has anything at all to do with Talon, but mostly odd jobs we pick up for funding. It’s half obnoxious. If I wanted to run around and be a trained attack dog, I would have stayed a mercenary. And even being a mercenary is better than this. At least then I only had to listen to my own judgement; now I got to worry about typical morals and other things. People here are too soft to make the hard decisions. Maybe it’s an old lesson I ain’t keen on letting go of, but every good decision is hard to make and every hard decision is a good one. This ain’t no modern mind-twister: fact is, ain’t no sympathy for these kind of criminals we're dealin' with. Mass murderers. People who kill for the thrill of it. They deserve to be ten feet under with not a single sign to their name. 

 

Before you get onto me, all uppity: they ain’t the least bit sorry. I can see it in their eyes, just how I can see in yours how sorry you are.

I feel like we ain’t doing anything important. Tired of dragging my feet. Tired of being careful. Tired of cutting my words. Wish I could, in good conscience, give Winston a good tongue-lashing, but the man’s tryin’ so hard and felt like if I even tried he’d wither up and just die.

 

I miss you. Ain’t no one as bitter as me like you are. Guess it’s part of bein’ old, right? Tried to talk to Genji about it. He used to be real mean, when I knew him, and didn’t talk much but he was always good for a little bit of gossip. But now he’s all about peace and tranquility and shit. It’s not as fun. I say something half sour and he goes ‘It is better to let go’. I will have you know, Genji, that I ain’t let go of nothing without screaming and crying and tearing it to pieces first.

 

Not to seem like I’m angry at him. He’s right, and I know it, and I just don’t like it. Almost forty and I still ain’t ready to change.

 

Reminds me of this thing that happened while I was younger. Lemme recall… Must’ve been a teenager, something like that. I was only toe-deep in the gang, I think, with my father introducin’ me to some of his buddies. Fell in like that, you know. Think you’re making a friend, think you’re just meeting some other people, think you’re just doing something for fun, and then you’re knee-deep in kilos of cocaine with police sirens in the distance, a bandana on your face and Peacekeeper in your hand and you think ‘Now what in sam’s hell have I gotten myself into now?’. Anyway, off track there. So just became acquainted to deadlock. There was some sort of church event I was going too. Not particularly Christian, but my pa ‘was’ and there was free food and all so I figured why not. Went there, met with a couple of my buddies and we started talking up a storm about some person we didn’t like. Can’t remember who they were, for the life of me, but I remember they tried to tell me what to do once and I took a mighty offense to it. Funny, cause I take offense to it now!  ANYWAY. So we were gossiping, and this old man comes out of no where. Not real old, probably late twenties, but I thought it was old at the time. Blonde. Looked real strung out, overworked, that kind of thing. He said, y’know, all southern sweetness (if I were there I would be sure to mimic this accent exactly): ‘You know, in the eyes of Christ Almighty, gossiping a sin. Only do onto others as you would do onto yourself’. My friends, well, they were the god-fearin’ type considerin’ their parents, but my mom was native through and through and my dad’s ganging and whoring and dealing hadn’t convinced me he was godly. So I said, “Sure is, if you Christian.”

 

He says, “I’m christian.”

 

How dumb can one fuck be?

 

I go, “Yeah, okay, but that’s not to say we are. I ain’t.”

 

“But if you’re religious.”

 

 I said, “I’m religious, just ain’t Christian.”

 

This took the poor fuck for a loop and he left, confused as hell. He didn’t even need to think immediately to me bein’ native, I coulda been jewish or a muslim. Wasn’t smart enough, I’m supposing. 

 

Anyway, later figured out from a friend’s dad that he worked at the local Wendy’s and was doin’ drugs. Make sense, in retrospect, but I was fourteen and at a church event. Why the hell would I know what heroin looks like? And don’t comment on that, I ain’t in a pity-party pissing-contest kind of mood. I figured it out eventually, though, you know that.

 

Maybe that kind of shit’s too heavy for a letter. I don’t know. It’s always hovering there though, you know, like some sort of film over my memory. Look back, trying to remember what I ate for dinner last week and somehow I end up there thinking about that. Doesn’t bother me as much as it used too. Used to bother me too much.   
  


Anyway, I have more to say but I can’t remember it. I’m sure that if you were here, in person, conversation would be flowing, but it’s hard to shoot the shit and pick fun at you if you aren’t here to go all ‘why I never’ and all that other shit. Just monologing is hard. I need your shitty input sometimes, too. 

 

I hope that we end up together at the base soon. Managed to get my hand on that sake you mentioned. You know, the nectar of the gods? Yeah. Been squirrelin’ it away for a while now, trying to wait for some kinda special occassion, but at this point I’m just ready to drink it with you. You’re a bitter asshole, but I’m a grumpy one and altogether we are one mean margarita. 

 

I’ll be sticking this under your door. I know how much trash on the floor bothers you, so you’ve gotta pick it up eventually. I’m hoping that it is sooner than later.

 

Best of intentions,

J. McCree 


	2. august 18th, 2076

August 18th, 2076.

 

Jesse,

 

Be aware that one of the only reasons I am humoring you regarding this letter-writing is that I agree with your point regarding how vulnerable our messages are, and I have a surplus of good stationery sitting around wishing to be used. In the future I advise you against using decades old printer paper-- it tore when you signed it, and I left a boot mark when I stepped on it. I was returning from a mission in Central Africa and had not a chance to wash off all the mud and other undesirables.

 

It would be untrue to deny our inability to talk. It makes sense that we work in shifts, though it must be the ‘luck of the draw’ that we are always on opposite teams. While you are chasing down and intercepting shipments, we have been investigating different locations for the most part. For the past fortnight or so we have been throughout Africa. It is of my belief that we are looking for some sort of base or otherwise important stronghold for Talon; I advised that we focus mainly on coastal areas, as they are regularly easier to access and ideal for any sort of smuggling, but my input was brushed off.

 

Again.

 

Regardless, we had just left Numbani and were about to investigate one more area before returning. There was something suspect in Morocco, but without evidence to back up my claim the team was forced to leave. I have the inclination that Talon is drawn to metropolitan areas in regards to storage; consider, for example, the infestation we routed out in King’s Row and the base in Venice. I feel the same is afoot here in Morocco, but it seemed that whenever I turned to investigate something fell further into the shadows. Perhaps it is better that we did not discover anything while in Morocco. Not only were we tired and underequipped, I felt us understaffed and underprepared for any sort of intensive combat. You, of course, are familiar with my thoughts on this as you are the only one that agrees. It is the cost of being put with such a juvenile organization led by someone so unfit; idealism is no subsitute for experience, and I have told Winston that. I, unlike you, have no such qualms about ‘hurting’ his feelings.

 

Contrary to your opinion, he did not curl up and die. He grew quite indignant and refused to address the matter further. Perhaps he believed I was criticizing him on account of desiring his position, but that is untrue. I find any sort of leadership position to be uncomfortable recently. I will not play at humility and deny my in-born skills with leadership, but even just the notion of responsibility for so many sends my spleen down to my boots…

 

Continuing on, were Winston able to recognize my criticism as that-- criticism, not an attempt to undermine him-- I believe that the organizational skills of our fledgling anti-terrorist unit would prosper, and perhaps we would get something done with this ‘crime-fighting’. As of now, I cannot help but agree with you. We are running in circles, chasing our own tails as if we were some scrawny mutt sulking in the shadows of an alley. We make no progress and only waste time and resources. But I felt I have hit my ‘advice’ meter within my team and thus do not offer this, otherwise I surmise they would toss me off the dropship. It is valid advice however, and I find myself often bristling at the dismissal. Perhaps my background is not as 'shiny' as theirs, but it is quite ignorant of them to dismiss my experience as a leader; perhaps a nation-wide Yakuza is harder to lead than a handful of vigilantes. I left that position voluntarily and then destroyed that organization myself; it did not collapse while I led it, even if it meant I had to hold it together with my bare hands. It did seem that every underling I had was determined to tear my legacy to the ground.

 

I apologize. You did not ask for the details of clan politics...Tensions are high here. Unlike your group, which will frequently return to base and await another contract, we are always on the move. Being trapped with the same group of admittedly unlikable people has left blood running hot. Nearly three times a day there is an argument over ideals, motives, or past events. I can sense your retort from here: I am rarely involved in these. The last time I had argued, it was with Genji and it was over something from our past. It was a private event that we addressed publicly. It was a hit to my dignity; everyone was watching as if we were zoo animals. The conversation did eventually fall into Japanese, but that is not enough. I want my secrets back. They are not things to trade, and I am allowed my own privacy and opinions regardless of their opinion of me. It seems that Genji and I cannot be what we once were-- brothers, without some person meddling with all good intentions.

 

It is infuriating. It is hardly as if we were best friends right up until the night. We have decades of arguments to resolve, and many of these old wounds did not heal well. At risk of sounding like an absolute-- what do you say?-- dickhead, for every time I wronged Genji he wronged me as well. But my complaints do not compare to his, I know... I was too young and too blinded by duty and the thirst for power to see what was in front me. Genji pursued a different path, yes, but he needed my support all the time. Instead I damned him. This is something I am aware of and will always carry... Ziegler does not think so. She believes that I enjoy the memory, enjoy the anniversary, preen w en we argue. Is there a singular soul that likes to argue? I believe not.  But that does not mean that whenever Genji and I begin to bicker, over something insignificant like the television or something significant like the past that every bystander is allowed to step in. They act as if I am going to make an attempt on his life at any moment.

 

I have been with Overwatch for several months now, have laid my life on the line for them countless times. When will it be enough?

 

I digress. I addressed your writing out of order.

 

Onto the books I recommended you. Thank you for finishing _The Picture of Dorian Grey_. Oscar Wilde’s work is too noteworthy in history to ignore, despite his own glaring faults. And I am actually not overly fond of the work. The set up in which the book operates; a rich, charismatic individual ruins everything he touches, in short, is much too close to reality for comfort. I do not wish to read things that make me uncomfortable.

 

Anyway, I felt it was important for you to read it because in many ways the book was one of the first noteworthy works of fiction that gained such notoriety. It set the bar, so to speak, and thus it would be difficult to continue onto other works without having something to compare it too. Relatively speaking, this was a easier starting point.

 

I invite you to challenge me. I would like to see what you find interesting. It is quite tiring to be the only source of quality entertainment in this duo. (I jest).

 

In all seriousness, please recommend me things you enjoy that are not news articles. I follow your writings quite feverently, Morricone, but constantly reading news articles soothsaying about the poor state of the world only distracts me. I find I deal with vile deeds too often to fill my free time with them.  And the other things you send me are interesting, true, but I wish to have something to return to again and again. I want re-readability. I will even watch a movie if you are so kind to recommend me one that wasn’t made with the absolute dregs of some holly wood multimillionaires pockets.

 

I also note that you prefer audiobooks. In that case I will endeavor to find things that are shorter so that you may read at a similar pace to me. Have you been taking your medication? Perhaps it is difficult, with the travel, but it will put you at your utmost focus. If necessary you can contact Ziegler and see what she can do from a distance.

 

I miss your ‘bitching’ as well. The people here bitch about all the wrong things and we do not get the same connection.  Miss Satya makes for a good replacement for you, in terms of gossip, but she is one of the first to tire of my company and ire when we spend long stretches together. I cannot help but agree. I am a solitary creature, and to solitude I must return. I miss my room. I miss my bed. I miss the silence in the morning when I awake and the sun is just turning the sky indigo, and for once everyone in the base is quiet. In true fashion, I will walk into the kitchen for my morning tea and find you passed out on the counter with a half-written article in front of you and three empty alcoholic beverages. I will wake you out of misplaced compassion, and you will begin to bother me throughout the day, following me throughout the base like a lost dog and I will be haunted by your presence until the sun goes down. And then it will repeat. (And yet with this I begin to await the morning with a certain kind of happiness).

 

I have been entertaining the strangest fantasy when I am allowed the time. I am in my room. It is dark, and a song I know is blaring so loudly throughout the walls that there is nothing beyond the doors. I lay on the floor, my chest facing the ceiling, and I am watching I cannot see while smoking a cigarette I had not smoked in ages. Something about this is aching familiar, and relaxing, and melancholy. I have written it up as stress, loneliness, and an overwhelming need to be alone. It is not like me to buy so heavily into useless daydreaming; it only serves to distract you from the true purpose. I do not even smoke anymore! I have given up that habit years ago (though you tempt me daily). But I find myself succumbing to it even when we are busy... Does that make sense?

 

Upon rereading your letter, I find many insults. This is normal, but it does beg the question: Why do people claim that I am the mean one in our friendship? You are much colder than me. This is unfair. I am only defending myself. Yet, in this letter I find myself whining more than I find myself insulting you in return; I have not the energy to rewrite it nor the time. I was given two days to refuel and then we are leaving again. Ironically, I believe that you are arriving an hour after we leave.

 

I would like to drink that sake with you. I hope that comes to pass sooner than later.

 

Regards,

H. Shimada

 

P.S. I just reread my own letter. It seems that I insult you in turn.


End file.
